Football fans

Coming home from Brussels was nearly as exciting as going out, owing to the Champions' League final that was to be played in Wembley that night. I had a couple of hours to kill before my flight home so I got off the tube in Covent Garden and walked through to Picadilly people watching as I went.

Man Utd fans were camped out in Covent Garden.

Whereas Barca fans were congregated in Trafalgar Square.

Choice of clothing in how you represented your team was amusing and I particularly enjoyed this man wearing a skirt.

The media were out too, and I watched as this Man Utd fan gave a relatively serious interview to a Spanish crew, only to have a drunk Man Utd fan wait until the very last second to be a jeering intruder in the back. 

Maternal concerns over my safety were not necessary as there was a good atmosphere between fans, as demonstated by the warm handshake below.

A handshake full of love and respect.

Before too long I was on my way to Heathrow. Imagine my shock to see this on the tube though.

All jokes aside, she was European and although I couldn't tell exactly where from my bet is Belgium.

Normally my blog would end there, but no. In Heathrow and the flight home I had two disasters.

1. I broke my brand new bottle of perfume on the airport floor when my bag of toiletries fell. No only that but the Aer Lingus staff were most unhelpful in the clean up operation and I cut my thumb. Which then became infected. Green pus. Tasty.

2. The insect bite I got on my ankle during the second night in Brussels swoll (that's not a word, but you know what I mean) up during the flight. So much so that the next day I couldn't walk on it. I even went down stairs on my butt. If you follow me on Twitter you'll know I was talking a lot about my sausage foot. This was why. It took another two days for the swelling to die down and another two weeks for the damn bite to stop itching - way over my normal insect bite healing time. During that time I did a lot of imagining of how that insect might have met his death. Falling into a vat of boiling oil was my favourite. In Christian love, of course.